Pin-Pricks In The Velvet
by HalfASlug
Summary: Everyone should have somewhere to come home to.


_A/N: Two half written Christmas fics on my hard drive and this was the story that wanted to be written in the early hours. Go figure. This was typed and posted on a mobile so any weird errors should be blamed on that and not my incompetence._

_Happy new year, everyone! And I hope you all enjoyed Hanukkah/Christmas/December in general as well!_

_Disclaimer: I'm not the BBC. Not even a little bit._

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><p>The sheer scale of space never failed to amaze Rose. After growing up seeing only pinpricks of light against a black background, it was easy to forget that each of those pinpricks was a gigantic ball of colour and heat and that the black had swirling gasses painted all across it. Now though, she opened her front doors almost daily to the sight of nebulae and black holes and red dwarfs.<p>

The tradition had started long ago, when the Doctor still chose leather over suits. One too many questions about how big the universe was and what things really looked like had led to him snapping. He'd stomped down the ramp in the console room, muttering something to do with humans being supposed to sleep at night, before flinging the doors open and showing her a cluster of planets around a burning sun.

She'd been staring in awe as his mood calmed while he too was staring in awe, but at something else entirely.

Sat on the threshold of the TARDIS, legs swinging in the great nothing, Rose was no longer speechless at the universe's beauty. In fact, she was mocking it loudly.

"That one looks like a hedgehog."

"Which one?"

"The one over there."

"Helpful."

"Above... China, I think."

"Oh yes, I see it. Looks more like a giraffe to me."

Rose swayed into the Doctor's side as he chuckled. There was no way the cloud looked anything like a giraffe, but these dumb conversations were one of her favourite things about her life.

"Okay, okay," the Doctor began, tongue resting behind his top teeth as he peered at the Earth. "That one. See it?"

He pointed towards what could have been India and Rose leant closer to him under the pretext of getting the right angle. "Yeah..."

"Picnic basket."

"Picnic- where are you getting these from?" Rose laughed. "Who sees picnic baskets in clouds?"

Looking mortally offended, the Doctor glanced from her face to the cloud in question and made choking noises. "It's perfectly reasonable!"

"Are you hungry? Is that what this is?"

Under her raised eyebrows and barely restrained smile, he crumbled. "Maybe - but it still looks like a picnic basket. It's not just fluffy animals, you know."

"How are hedgehogs fluffy?"

The stupid argument about what could or could not feasibly appear above the Earth in cloud form escalated until the Doctor was threatening to get books from the library about cloud formations and professional cloud watching guides. The seriousness of each point was completely undermined by, not just the subject matter, but how neither of them could keep a straight face. They couldn't keep from touching the other either. Whether it was playful slaps on the thigh, nudging an arm or guiding the other to face the same way with a hand on the shoulder, each touch made Rose warmer inside that she believed possible. There was nothing sexual about any of it, but the whole thing screamed an intimacy that she doubted she'd ever had before. Something told her she wasn't alone in this.

When the Doctor started jabbing his finger in the direction of a cloud that he swore was the spitting image of a spanner, Rose wrestled his arm down to hug it as she leant against him.

"You're the only spanner I can see," she told him sweetly, chin resting on his shoulder.

"Charming."

"As a prince."

She settled into shoulder and laced their fingers together without any conscious thought. It was their default setting at this point. By now the TARDIS had drifted, caught in the Earth's gravitational pull, and was hovering over what looked like Scandinavia from what Rose could see under the grey blanket obscuring her view. As she tilted her head to try a different angle, the clouds parted to reveal the familiar outline of the British Isles.

It'd been awhile since they'd been to Earth, let alone Britain, and Rose's heart skipped at seeing it. She remembered sitting on top of Shareen's block of flats as kids and naming all the famous landmarks in the city and how weird it had been, years later, going on the London Eye the first time and doing the same thing in reverse. They never did work out if they'd picked out the right grey tower block.

"I can see my house from here," she remarked and felt the Doctor laugh more than she heard it. "'S'nice though, seeing it like this. Like, out of all of space, I can point to that little island and say that it's mine. I can go trillions of lightyears in any direction but there's still this rock here, waiting for me."

It wasn't uncommon that she'd think out loud in front of the Doctor. Even when sharing her oddest ponderings with him, he'd often chip in, giving her context or just smiling like he was grateful to be trusted with this side of her. What was rare, was how he stiffened and remained completely silent.

Rose lifted her head to see why he wasn't replying. One look at his locked jaw and wide eyes and she realised what she'd said.

"Oh, Doctor, I'm sorry. I-I didn't think, I just-"

"It's okay," he murmured, not looking at her.

"It was only-"

"I know."

He sniffed and looked away from the Earth and Rose gripped his hand a fraction tighter in the hopes that he wouldn't walk away. It was clear he'd already closed himself off mentally and, as terrible as she felt, she wanted him to stay.

Before Rose could think of anything to say, the Doctor had pulled his defenses back up and was once again watching the turn of the planet below them. While he hadn't changed his seating position, it still felt like he was now huddled against the door frame.

Rose bit her lip and wished she was brave enough to ask what he was thinking about. If he was remembering the planet that he'd grown up on, had called home for nearly a millennium and had watched as it burnt into nothing. If he could show her pictures or tell her stories or do something - _anything_ - to ease the pain behind his eyes.

Somehow she knew that he would never tell her if he was, that she was more of an escape to him than a therapist. She was almost grateful in a way because what did you say to the man who'd lost so much? What could she do to lessen the guilt? She knew she'd listen to every word he was willing to give, though. That day in the future, when he'd maybe mention a person or a place, she'd remember and draw her own sketch of Gallifrey, waiting for him to add the colour.

In the corner of her eye, Rose saw the lights from the darker side of the Earth glowing and she knew what she could do until then.

"As a, um, official Earth representative," she started, fiddling with his cuff but her eyes locked on him, "I'd like to - I mean, I know we're just tiny brained weirdos with silly traditions and inconvenient sleeping patterns, but..." She took a deep breath, trying not to worry about how the Doctor hadn't moved since she'd started. "I'd like to make you a... honorary Earthling."

Rose swore she could feel each movement of the heart beating in her tight chest as, finally, the Doctor faced her, his expression still closed off.

"Maybe I could even throw the Damehood around. Make it official," she hedged with a small smile.

"An honorary Earthling?" The Doctor's eyebrow arched in a way that normally made Rose's stomach clench for a different reason than the extreme nerves she was currently experiencing.

"Well, yeah. 'Cause you let me live here and share all your stuff," shrugged Rose. "So I guess I should share and all. And this is what I have." She gestured to the Earth, her voice fading to almost a whisper. "My home. You can share it with me. If you want?"

It was moments like this, when his gaze held more weight than she could comprehend and he seemed to go hours without moving a muscle, not even to breathe, that Rose fully appreciated how alien he was. There was no guessing what was running through his mind as he stared at her, half his face illuminated by the time rotor, while the other reflected the light from the universe he'd sworn to protect.

After what could easily have been a year, his lip parted as though he were about to speak, but no words materialised. In their place came an intake of breath that shook his whole body and a blink that left his eyes looking suspiciously wet.

The retraction of her offer, or at least some wild back-tracking, was almost on Rose's lips when suddenly there was no room for it. Somehow, without any preamble or warning, the Doctor had pressed his mouth to hers.

Unlike what the old clichés said, Rose didn't see any stars explode or feel the world move. She witnessed those things almost daily. To her, they weren't all that special.

It was the tiny things about this moment that made it incredible. How she could feel his nose pressed against her cheek and the tips of his fringe tickling her forehead. How his hand was clinging to hers, his entire body tense, speaking of a vulnerability she so rarely saw in this great being. How when she stroked her thumb against his knuckles and moved to kiss his bottom lip, he raised his other hand to her cheek.

Impressive though they could be, the stars were nothing compared to the man who travelled them.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to breathe out a "thank you" against her lips, cooling the moisture left there from their kiss.

"Anytime."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Pulling him into a tight embrace, Rose closed her eyes against the tears she didn't want to fall. Against her shoulder, she felt the Doctor turn his head to look out at the Earth and somehow knew he was doing the same thing.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<em>


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